


Accents Only Club

by iamthececimonster



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Bilingual Character(s), Deaf Character, Friends to Lovers, M/M, New Relationship, hard of hearing character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-09 12:14:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12276267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamthececimonster/pseuds/iamthececimonster
Summary: Racetrack is in love with his best friend. He doesn't realize his best friend is in love with him. Luckily, Jack knows better.Alternatively, I've watched the King of New York scene on Netflix probably 50 times.





	Accents Only Club

**Author's Note:**

> Racetrack is Italian, notes regarding what he said in Italian at the end.  
> Albert is Hard of Hearing and wears hearing aids. A note about ASL: There is a completely separate form of grammar for ASL, it isn't just signed English. It's also difficult to write out in longform English, and this is my first experience with it. So, I apologize terribly if it reads miserably...

A cooling September evening found Antonio Higgins sitting on the fire escape outside his apartment building in Manhattan, arms draped over the railing, feet dangling over the edge, unlit cigarette clamped between his teeth. He was pointedly ignoring his older sister’s incessant rambling and his mom’s frustrated insistence that he stay off the fire escape. He had been coming out here since he was a kid, the two-bedroom apartment becoming more and more cramped the older he got.  
He heard clanging below him. “Aye Race! You up there?”  
Antonio looked down. Only his friends called him Race – short for Racetrack, the dumb sort of nickname you get when you’re the fastest kid at your middle school, that just never leaves you. Albert was standing on the fire escape outside his apartment, one down and one over. They had created a ladder to bridge the escapes several years ago. The Higgins’ downstairs neighbor was a near deaf old lady who didn’t care what Albert or Race did as long as her hydrangeas weren’t damaged in the process. He waved in response to his best friend’s yelling, gesturing him up. So, Albert practically sauntered across the rusty ladder that kept him from falling seven stories to an untimely death and would probably give the fire marshal and the landlord heart attacks, and climbed up the stairs to where Race sat, kicking his legs back and forth, the metal clanging against his black boots.  
He sat down with an ungainly thud. “You alright, man?” He pushed long, thin fingers through his thick red hair, shoving against Race with his shoulder.  
Race shrugged. Albert stared so intently. Race knew he was staring so that he could read lips, he knew that Albert stood and sat so closely so that he wouldn’t miss out on any words, the English still fumbled by the remnants of Race’s Italian accent. But he couldn’t help but blush when Albert would turn his face back with a gentle hand, or grab him by the shoulders to calm him down.  
Albert smiled, and then snatched the cigarette out of Race’s mouth, laughing. He stared at it for a second, and put it between his own lips. Race gaped momentarily, staring at the other boy’s mouth. After looking thoughtful for a moment, Albert took the cigarette back out, twirling it between his fingers.  
“I don’t get it.” He said, his voice thick and deep. Sometimes, their friends would make jokes about the two boys with their accents. Albert always laughed, saying that was why Race was his best friend. They had an Accents Only club that no one else was allowed to join. Crutchie made them t-shirts one year, as a joke. They read “Accents Only Club” in big bold letters. The next year, when they met Mush after he moved from Colombia, they invited him to join, and made him a t-shirt, too.  
“Why bother, Race? You don’t smoke them, why bother having them?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper.  
Race snatched it back, rolling his eyes and putting it between his teeth again to free his hands. “I no know. Davey says I have…” he scoured his mind for the signs for it, but settled for finger spelling. “Oral fixation.” He laughed. “Or something like that.”  
Albert laughed, and Race felt a sudden warmth grow around his chest. Albert thought for a second, and then signed for “Oral fixation,” repeating it again when Race’s fingers stuttered over the unfamiliar signs.  
“Davey just mean you like having something in you mouth.” Albert wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.  
Race turned beat red, turning away from his friend to look back out at the alley. Albert grabbed his face again, signing one handed while he held Race’s angular chin in his other hand.  
“I kidding, Race. I kidding.”  
“I know, I know.”  
“You only…not smoke when you stressed. Why you stressed?” Albert shifted his body so he was sitting with his legs crossed, knees pushed against Race’s thigh.  
Race sat still for a minute, thinking. I love you. I’m an idiot and I love you. It was hard to think when Albert was touching him. Albert was always touching him. His brown eyes bore into Race like the other boy could see right through him. He turned so that he and Albert were sitting knee to knee. A siren blared from the street below them, and Albert grimaced. He pulled his aids out, putting them in the pocket of his worn jean jacket.  
“Jack say something” Race angrily made the sign for cowboy that they’d all begun using for their friend Jack Kelly and grimaced, thinking back to the uncomfortable conversation he’d had with Jack the day before. 

\- -

The whole group had been watching a movie in Jack’s parents’ living room, and Race had been content to sit against the arm of the sofa with Albert’s head in his lap. Albert had taken his aids out, and Crutchie, who had control of the remote, had put the subtitles on, though it was The Princess Bride, a movie all of them had seen a dozen or so times. Albert and Davey had even read the book. As usual, Jack and Blink jumped up to do the fight choreography between Inigo and The Man in Black, Crutchie collapsing in laughter and Mush leading the group in a round of applause when they were done. About halfway through the movie, Race started dragging his fingers through Albert’s hair, and about ten minutes later, just before they broke into the castle, Race realized Albert was asleep on his lap. He smiled to himself, hoping the dark and the group’s focus on the film would prevent anyone from realizing.  
He was not so lucky, though. He woke Albert from his sleep with a gentle shake after the most romantic kiss in history, and handed him his aids from the side table. Albert’s parents were there to take him to the specialist, and Race was staying at Jack’s house for the afternoon. As much as he didn’t like going back to the crowded apartment with his mom and his sister, it was even worse going back to it when it was empty. So Medda, Jack’s foster mom, made lunch for Jack and Race, and they spent the afternoon destroying each other in Super Mario Bros.  
“So, what’s going on between you and Al?” Jack had asked, mouth full of Doritos.  
Race’s cheeks turned the color of hair, bright red. “What are you talking about, man?”  
Jack laughed, clutching his chest. “Dude, your face. If I didn’t think you were in love with him before, your face. I didn’t know you could turn that color!”  
Race punched him in the shoulder. “I do NOT love Albert. We’re best friends. Fuck you.”  
“Oh man. Edgy, cool Racetrack Higgins is in looooooveeee” Jack’s voice went sing song for the last bit of his declaration.  
“I am NOT in love!” he shouted, throwing the controller down.  
“Whoa, man. I was messing with you…no need to lose your chill.” Jack looked taken aback. “If it helps, I’m pretty sure Albert likes you, too.” He shrugged.  
Race shook his head, beginning to panic, when his phone made a racket from the pocket of his discarded leather jacket. He dove for it, choosing to ignore Jack and the mounting panic in his chest. His mom was calling.  
“Ciao mamma. Sei a casa? Sì, lo spaghetti va bene. No, i suoi genitori sono la casa che penso. Sì, vado a casa. Va bene. Ti amo.(1)" He spoke into the phone. Then he hung up and looked at Jack. “Uh…my mom is home. I gotta go. Just…just don’t say anything, yeah?”  
“Would I ever? Come on man.” Jack grinned. “But seriously. Just ask, okay? Just talk to him.”  
Race rolled his eyes and walked out, shouting goodbye to Medda. 

\- -  
Albert stared intently at Race, nudging the curly haired boy with his knees when he paused for too long. “Jack say what???” Albert signed intently.  
“Merda.(2)” Race mumbled around the cigarette.  
Albert’s face lit up, and if his heart skipped a beat, that was his own business. He had picked up on a little bit of Race’s Italian, and watching his mouth form those words was beautiful. Albert was never more happy for an excuse to stare at Racetrack’s mouth.  
“What wrong?” Albert signed. “You say in Italian. Better?”  
“You no understand, Al!” Race felt a smile growing.  
“No, you feel better.”  
Race pulled the cigarette out of his mouth, never breaking eye contact with Albert. He felt himself blush further, hoping the cooling evening air would take the blame. Then Albert put his hand gently on Race’s throat, to feel the words, as he said. Race closed his eyes, and choked on his own breath.  
“Cristo, sono innamorato di te.(3)” The words rushed out before Race could stop them, eyes still closed.  
Then, without warning, Race felt soft lips on his. His eyes flew open, and he realized that Albert had closed the gap between them, and was kissing him. Albert was kissing him. Before he could stop himself, he ran his fingers through Albert’s red hair, thankful that for once, Albert had forgone his typical backwards snapback. Albert’s hand dropped from Race’s throat to his hip, and he left it gently there.  
Finally, Race remembered he needed to breathe. Breathing was important. He pulled back. Albert’s eyes snapped open.  
His hands started flying. “I sorry, Race. Sorry!” he stood up and backed away, fingers racing faster than Racetrack could keep up with the words.  
“Slow! Please! Slow!” Race stood up, too, confused.  
Albert looked near tears. “Sorry!”  
“Why you sorry?” Race asked. “Only sorry if not want again?”  
Albert’s mouth dropped. “You…you want? Kiss me?”  
“Jack say we want kiss. We love. Me scared you no love. You no want kiss.” Race shrugged, looking for his cigarette, only to realize it had fallen down the fire escape. He’d have to get a new one.  
“Race. What you say Italian?”  
“I’m in love with you.” Race said aloud, as he signed. Albert was staring at his mouth, and Race was beginning to wonder if his face would ever not be red.  
Albert took a step closer. “I love you” he signed, pulling Race closer by the hip with his other hand. The warm leather of Race’s jacket was smooth against his fingers. “I kiss now?”  
In response, Race grabbed the sides of his face, pulling him in. Albert’s lips were slightly chapped and Race could taste the cooling weather against them. Albert moved one hand to Race’s chest, leaning in against it, and pulled them hip to hip. When Race wrapped his fingers back in Albert’s hair, the redhead couldn’t keep from gasping slightly. Race cataloged the sound as something they’d explore further later, and deepened the kiss, feeling slightly drunk with opportunity.  
Too soon, Albert’s phone began vibrating and beeping loudly from his pocket, startling both of them. He read the text, and put his aids back in, frowning at the sudden uptick of sound.  
“I go home. Mom dad want. See tomorrow?”  
Race leaned in, hands shy, and kissed Albert on the cool cheek. When he leaned back again, he grabbed Albert’s outstretched hand. “Domani, il mio amore.(4)”  
He watched the bright red hair climb down the escape, over the ladder, and in his window, and climbed back in his own, feeling like a small fire had been lit in his chest.

He grabbed his phone from his nightstand, and sent a one-word text to the Cowboy. “Thanks.”

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Hey Mom. Are you home? Yeah, yeah spaghetti is fine. No, his parents are home I think. Yeah, I’ll head home. Okay. Love you.  
> 2\. Shit  
> 3\. Christ, I’m in love with you.  
> 4\. Tomorrow, my love.


End file.
